


They Just Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To

by Slenderlock



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5864971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slenderlock/pseuds/Slenderlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Just- shut up already,” the Soldier growled, flipping to a page somewhere in the middle of the packet and looking back up at the Death Ray™. He frowned at it, then looked back at the page. Steve strained his neck enough to see a black and white drawing detailing the various parts of the equipment. “Shit,” the Soldier swore. “The fuck is wrong with this thing?”</p><p>“Oh,” Steve said, looking back up at the Death Ray™. “Uh, did you check the fuses?”</p><p>or</p><p>The one where Steve is an international spy, The Soldier, his latest nemesis, is attempting to kill him, and things work out surprisingly well for both parties. </p><p>(Inspired by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_SlAzsXa7E">the music video for Miike Snow's "Genghis Khan."</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Just Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To

It’s not, actually, the _worst_ kidnapping Steve can remember. 

He’s been tranq-ed, for a start, he has to give the guy credit. In fact, he would almost be cute, Steve thought, if not for the fact that he’d just kidnapped and bound Steve to a table.

“Okay, prepare to meet your- _doom, seriously-_ blah blah blah, let’s see,” the man- The Soldier- muttered, flipping back a few sheets in his packet and skimming over the lines. “Okay, I’m gonna skip this part- wait, shit.” He squinted down at the lines, apparently indifferent to the spy bound neatly to the table below him and what Steve assumed was probably some sort of Death Ray™ above his forehead. “I skipped a bit,” he said. “Shit, hold on.”

“Sorry to ruin the moment,” Steve piped up, eyeing the Death Ray™ and trying to decide whether it was going to kill him instantly or if it included hours of torture (in the last few years or so, Villains had tended to go for the cheaper, more instant-and-efficient models, to save on time and money. It was a pity, because it meant the months Steve had spent building up endurance against torture devices and interrogation were now, effectively, useless.)  “But you don’t seem that enthusiastic about this whole… murder thing.”

“Just- shut up already,” the Soldier growled, flipping to a page somewhere in the middle of the packet and looking back up at the Death Ray™. He frowned at it, then looked back at the page. Steve strained his neck enough to see a black and white drawing detailing the various parts of the equipment. “Shit,” the Soldier swore. “The fuck is wrong with this thing?”

“Oh,” Steve said, looking back up at the Death Ray™. “Uh, did you check the fuses?”

“What?” The Soldier gave him a blank look.

Steve shrugged- or at least shrugged as best he could with his wrists bound beside him. “It’s happened before. The cheaper models draw a lot of AC power, which means they don’t have to put as much money into battery storage. But, you know.” He looked up at the tip of the Death Ray™, poised an inch or two above his forehead. “Takes a lot of power. I’ve seen a few blown fuses.”

“Oh.” The Soldier flipped back to the glossary section of the packet, squinted at it for a moment, and flipped back to the third page. “Shit. You’re right.”

“Some of these have back-up batteries,” Steve offered. “If you reset the fuse and unplug it, you might still be able to go through with the whole…” He looked up at the end of the Death Ray™, crossing his eyes a little to bring it into focus. “You know.”

“Would you just-” The Soldier clenched his left fist- metal, of course it was metal- in a vague gesture. “ _Stop it?”_

“Stop what?” Steve asked. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Exactly.” The Soldier scowled _. “Stop it-_ ugh, see, this is why I didn’t want to get stuck with you.”

“Excuse me?” Steve spluttered.

“Look.” The Soldier let the packet fall to his side, forgotten. “Don’t take this personally, but I’m not actually after you. Or whatever. This is… like an interview. For a job.”

“A job,” Steve repeated.

“Yeah.” The Soldier sighed. “Like… a pre-requisite. I’m after a position, got it?  Lotta hoops to jump through. And one of those hoops is you. Well, specifically your body on a silver platter.”

“Okay?” Steve raised an eyebrow. “I mean. I get that the whole… Death Ray™ is more by-the-books, and cooler looking. Sort of. But wouldn’t it be easier to just, I don’t know, shoot me?” He looked from the Death Ray™ to the Soldier. “You’d probably save a lot of money.”

“They covered the expenses,” the Soldier said, waving away Steve’s point. “And I can’t just _do that,_ it’s-” He threw up his hands, looking at the ceiling. “It’s complicated, okay?”

“All right, all right,” Steve conceded. “But- why do they want me? I mean, I know I’m… against your side, and all. But I try to stay out of your way. Or at least, I try to injure as few of your agents as I possibly can.”

“Yeah,” the Soldier said, scowling. “That’s why you’re on the top of the list. It’s… it’s like. Extra points.”

Steve stared.

“Look, if you were a dick, I wouldn’t mind doing this. But you’re not. You’re like… so good, it’s disgusting.” He sighed, leaning against the table. “Even to our agents, you’re good. You’ve _helped_ us, before.”

Steve frowned, trying to remember. “Peru?” he guessed.

“Yeah. Peru.” The Soldier nodded. “You could have just let Sitwell die, and you’d have been fine. Hell, you could have taken him out, no problem. But _no,_ you risked the _entire mission,_ and your _goddamn life,_ just to get him out.”

Steve huffed. “You seem to know a lot about me.”

The Soldier made a strange sound with his throat and- Steve couldn’t quite see his face from his angle, but he thought he saw the faintest shade of red color his cheeks.

“I have a _fan,”_ he realized.

“Shut up,” the Soldier growled.

“Wait, wait- so you get ‘extra points’-” He would have made air quotations if his wrists weren’t bound by his sides, so he settled himself with raising his eyebrows in what he hoped was an appropriate enough manner to convey the feeling of air quotation. “-for getting rid of me, just because I’m a decent person?”

The Soldier nodded. “Yep. Pierce’ll have to hire me, if he hears I took _you_ down. Hell, if I land this thing, I can even boss Sitwell around. And he’s level _eight.”_

“Huh.” Steve frowned. “Interesting grading system.”

The Soldier raised an eyebrow.

“So,” Steve said hastily, “this job you’re hoping for. Tell me about it.”

“I’d rather,” the Soldier said, “you tell me what you’re stalling for.”

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Did you radio someone your location? Or was there an emergency protocol activated after your signal went down?"

And in an instant, Steve schooled his face into its unbreakable mask once more.

“I’m not telling you anything,” he said. “I’ll die here before I betray my agency.”

The Soldier rolled his eyes. “I know. Look, I don’t care about your stupid agency, or whoever’s coming to get you. I just need to know how much security I need to keep ‘em off.”

“Oh, of course,” Steve said. “Yes, because I trust your word.” He looked down at his wrists, still bound by the metal straps to the table.

“I’m not gonna hurt them,” the Soldier insisted. “All I’m interested in is you.”

“You might not hurt them, but you have people,” Steve pointed out. “To your underlings, they’re expendable. Not to me.”

Exasperated, the Soldier pushed off from the table, pacing. “Then I’ll tell my people not to hurt them, just-” He turned to look down at Steve, packet still clutched between his fingers. “Look, this has been a really stressful day for me, and I really don’t need this right now, so can you _please_ just tell me who’s coming so I can look them up on our systems to see their levels so I don’t get the _shit beaten out of me in the next five minutes_ and I can just _get this done?”_

Steve blinked. The Soldier, fuming, glared at him.

“Oh my god,” Steve said.

 _“What,”_ the Soldier seethed.

“No, I’m sorry,” Steve spluttered, “It’s just- I never thought you’d be like this, this is actually kind of hilarious.”

“I…” Taken aback, the Soldier adjusted his stance, stiffening his shoulders awkwardly. “What’d you think I’d be like?”

“I don’t know.” Again, Steve shrugged as best he could. “Like… like all the others, but possibly without all the weird…” He cast a glance around the room- he was hesitant to call it a ‘lair,’ exactly, it didn’t quite have the room- before settling on an appropriate word. “Evil,” he said. “Stuff.”

“Really?” The Soldier frowned. “What, I’m not as evil as the other guys?” Steve would have laughed at the look of sheer disappointment on his face, if he wasn’t currently trapped underneath a Death Ray™.

“No!” he said, trying not to grin. “No, no, I mean- you’ve been on our radar for a while, but you’re just on a different level than most of our other targets.”

“Different?” the Soldier prompted.

“Higher,” Steve corrected. “More dangerous, actually.”

The Soldier cleared his throat. He blinked. “Really?”

Steve suddenly found himself very uncomfortable, as the Soldier began walking towards him with what could only be described as _hope_ shining across his face. “Uh,” he said. “Um. Yes. I mean- I mean,” he stammered, realizing. “No, I’m not giving away our information.”

“Waitwaitwait, no, tell me,” the Soldier babbled, coming up to the side of the table excitedly. “I don’t care about your stupid agency, I told you, I’m just- incredibly interested in my records, what was that about me being on a higher level?”

Steve blinked. “It’s not stupid.” At a glare from the Soldier, he continued reluctantly. “Well, your records are, frankly, incredible. We haven’t recorded a single missed kill- or missed assignment, whatever.”

“Really,” the Soldier said, positively _glowing._

“Really,” Steve said. “And you’ve got the longest run without a capture on record. Usually after a few months of activity, we manage to lock you guys up at least once or twice. But you’re slippery.”

“Go on,” the Soldier said.

“You don’t hire henchmen to do your work, which I admire,” Steve said, without pause. “And you’re damn good at what you do- some of the shots we have recorded are just- incredible.” He let out a breath, marveling. “A 1.76 mile shot- you shattered the world record.”

“You…” the Soldier began, looking down at Steve. “You seem to know an awful lot… about _me.”_

Steve stopped short at that.

 _“I have a fan,”_ the Soldier mocked, bringing a hand to his chin.

“You have a fan,” Steve conceded, laughing a little at that. “Sorry.”

The Soldier snorted. “I have a problem, ‘s what I have.” He pulled out his phone and flicked through his notifications. “Two problems,” he corrected himself. “Great.”

Steve beamed proudly from the table.

“Ugh,” the Soldier muttered. “Well, this is just great. I’ve still got to kill you, and now I’ve got-” He glanced at his phone. “-probably less than ten minutes. And I have no idea where the fuse-box is.”

Instinctively, Steve looked to the Soldier’s sides, taking stock of precisely how many guns he had strapped to his belt, and the make and model of each one. Interesting, he noted. The Soldier had a fondness for knives, as well.

“No,” the Soldier said, impatiently. “No, I’m not gonna kill you.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “Well, that’s one less thing to worry about.”

“How about this,” the Soldier said. “You listening?”

“I don’t have much choice,” Steve pointed out.

“How about,” the Soldier said, “I _don’t_ kill you, you don’t hate me, and your friends don’t try to kill me, either?”

“That sounds good,” Steve said, “I don’t see a downside to that plan.”

“And we kill the Captain,” the Soldier finished, triumphantly.

“Okay,” Steve said, “killing off the Captain might be a problem. Because it kind of clashes with the first part of your plan, which I think involved _not_ killing me.”

“Not you,” the Soldier said impatiently. “Just your name. It’s a win-win, see? I get an easy ticket to Pierce’s pocket, you get an extra level of security you didn’t even have to pay for. Ghost agents are twice as useful as regular ones.”

“Maybe twenty percent,” Steve mused. “The only benefit is people not looking for your face- you can still be recognized, easy as anything, and the idea’s been around for long enough that it’s actually pretty common-”

The Soldier flicked a switch on the side of the metal table and the bonds above Steve’s wrists and neck retracted with a faint _hiss._ Steve sat up instantly, bringing a hand to his neck and rubbing gently.

“Uh,” he said.

“Shut you up,” the Soldier explained. “I don’t use henchmen, remember?” He looked down at his phone. “So there’s nothing stopping those friends of yours from busting in here as fast as they can and tearing this place to bits. And I’ll have to pay for it if they do.”

“I thought you said this thing was covered,” Steve said, setting a hand on the Death Ray™.

“They covered the initial cost,” the Soldier said, nodding. “But I didn’t get the weapons insurance plan; I don’t usually need it. Never tried one of these things before,” he admitted. “I usually just stick to what works. And these things have pretty big backgrounds in terms of _not working.”_

“I can attest to that,” Steve muttered. “So, what’s your plan?”

“Got any previous experience in faking your death?”

“No,” Steve said, “but I know a couple of people who do.” He frowned. “At least, I think.”

“And?” the Soldier prompted.

“It usually involves a lot more forward planning,” Steve said, shrugging. “Faked deaths tend to be pretty long-term investments, not really spur-of-the-moment deals.”

“You don’t have an identical twin?”

“Nope.” Steve shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Well,” the Soldier said. “Shit.”

Steve cracked his wrists, wincing. “You could blow the place up and say I died in the blast and my body was destroyed?”

“Too obvious,” the Soldier said, waving his hand. “And no insurance, remember?”

“Oh, right, right.” Steve nodded. “Well. If we booted this thing up, you could find a body to use, dress it up in this,” he gestured to his uniform, “and film you, uh.”

“Vaporizing,” the Soldier said.

“Vaporizing me,” Steve finished. “Really? A vaporizer? Aren’t those expensive?”

“As hell,” the Soldier said, shrugging. “S’ why I got it. Figured, might as well go all out- big risks, big rewards, all that. No way in hell I could pay it off. Maybe working a job for a year, I could pay back half of it.”

“These things are overpriced as hell,” Steve said, rubbing a finger over the fiberglass casing.

“Tell me about it,” the Soldier groaned. “Took me three tries to get my rental request through, and then they refused me because I didn’t have enough previous experience with this level of weaponry. So I just applied for a grant instead and bought it myself.”

“Your rental request wouldn’t go through, but you got a grant?” Steve asked.

“Used your name,” the Soldier said, shrugging. “You’re not, like, a high level threat, but like I said-”

“Extra points, yeah,” Steve finished for him. “Pierce must have money to burn if he’s willing to give you this kind of a weapon, just because you mentioned me.”

“Enough to pay us all,” the Soldier agreed. “And enough power to make us grateful for the shitty pay we get. But if I land this thing right,” he said, whistling lowly. “I’ll have enough to get Becca through college twice over.”

“Daughter?” Steve guessed.

“Little sister,” the Soldier corrected. “Living on her own, now. She makes enough to take about three classes every year, at that community college up north. Can’t afford much else.”

“That’s rough,” Steve said. “Sorry.”

“I send her what I can afford,” the Soldier said. “She thinks I work at an architecture place. Doesn’t ask questions about it, you know?”

“Aw,” Steve said. “Yeah, I know.”

“Oh,” the Soldier said, frowning. “You do know?”

Steve shrugged. “Officially, I’m an accountant. It’s boring enough that no one asks questions.”

“No one…?” the Soldier said, trailing off and cocking his head to the side.

“Not that anyone would ask,” Steve added.

“Right,” the Soldier said. “So. No girlfriend. Or.”

“No,” Steve agreed. “No _or,_ either.”

“Huh.” The Soldier folded his arms, looking determinedly _not_ at Steve.

“You?” Steve prompted.

“Neither,” the Soldier said.

“Good,” Steve said, without thinking.

“Good?” the Soldier repeated.

“Good to know,” Steve amended, feeling his ears burning. “Information. Useful, you know.”

“Yeah,” the Soldier said. “Yeah, ‘course.”

“Weren’t we trying to find a way to kill me?” Steve said abruptly, and perhaps a little more loudly than was necessary.

“Right!” The Soldier stood, setting the packet down on the table. “Right, of course. You had a good plan.” He frowned. “Not enough time, though. There’s no way we could find a body that looked enough like you to pass, and reboot the fuses, and charge the battery, _and_ get the whole thing filmed before your friends get here.”

“What?” Steve blinked. “Oh, them.” He shook his head. “Nah, don’t worry. Look-” He wiggled the fingers on his right hand. “I’m fine, right? Perfectly intact. The most they’ll do is try to stick you with a tranq.”

The Soldier frowned, considering.

“I’ve got coffee upstairs,” he said.

o0O0o

“Bullshit.”

“No, I swear to god,” Bucky said, holding up a finger, “I swear to god, this is exactly what happened. So I try to tranq him a _third_ time, and it _still_ doesn’t take-”

Steve’s arm flailed in the air for a moment, searching desperately for something to cling to in its time of need, before settling over his left- there was no other word for it- _tit._ Cackling like a madman, Steve slid down an inch or so in Bucky’s chair, still holding onto his coffee mug.

“And- no, here’s the best part,” Bucky said, through gasps of laughter. “So, he’s got three darts sticking outta his ass, and he turns and looks at me and says- and says-” Bucky leaned forward and squinted, trying to set the mood properly. “And he says _‘tranq you for your service,’_ and gives a _salute,_ and then just keels over like-” He slapped his hand on the table. “- _that.”_

Steve _howled,_ feet pedaling against the floorboards.

“Jesus, keep your voice down,” Bucky said, snorting. “People’re gonna think I’m tryin’ to kill you in here. Remember, I’m supposed to be an architect. Architects aren’t allowed to have fun.”

“Sorry,” Steve gasped, trying to catch his breath. “Sorry, I just-” But he was gone again, lost in the second fit of giggles.

 _“Jesus_ , Steve, don’t hurt yourself.”

When at last he’d managed to get control of his laughter, Steve sat up again in the chair, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I can top that,” he said.

“Oh, you’re on.”

“Okay,” Steve said, holding up his finger to mimic Bucky. “Okay, so I’m in Berlin,” he started. “And-”

He broke off as Bucky’s phone began to vibrate loudly against the table. Bucky skimmed the number, frowning.

“Probably Pierce,” he muttered grimly.

“Let me see,” Steve said, reaching out. Bucky handed the phone over, shrugging. Steve grinned as he saw the number. “I know who it is,” he said, “here, give me a second.” He slid his finger over the _answer_ button and held the phone to his ear.

 _“You have two minutes to release the Captain from your custody before we remove him by force,”_ Clint’s voice said, through the shitty speakers on Bucky’s phone. _“James Buchanan Barnes, under the name of Alexander Pierce, this is your final warning.”_

Steve raised an eyebrow at Bucky. Bucky shrugged, not having heard a word of the conversation.

“Clint, put Nat on the phone,” Steve said.

_“Steve?”_

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” Steve said. “I need you guys to do something. And by that I mean I need to tell Nat what you need to do so she doesn’t get every single detail backwards and fuck us all over.”

 _“Hey,”_ Clint protested, _“I don’t-_ ”

The line cut out for a split second before another voice replaced Clint’s.

 _“Steve,”_ Natasha said coolly. _“Position?”_

“What- no,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I’m fine. I need you to do something.”

 _“Backup?”_ Natasha guessed.

 _“No,”_ Steve said. “No, I’m _fine._ I need you to find me a replacement.”

Natasha was silent for a moment before answering. _“A 309 kind of replacement, or a 448 kind of replacement?”_

“448, Jesus,” Steve said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not training anyone.”

 _“Understood,”_ Natasha said. _“Should I be telling Fury about this?”_

“I- sure,” Steve said. “But just Fury. And Clint.”

_“Obviously.”_

“I’ve had about all the sass I can take today already, I don’t need yours,” Steve muttered. “Can you do it or not?”

Again, Natasha waited for a moment.

 _“Yes,”_ she said. _“You’re doing the dirty work yourself?”_

“Not entirely,” Steve said, looking over at Bucky again.

 _“Be careful,”_ Natasha warned.

“Since when have I ever been careful?”

 _“Fair point. I’ll keep an eye on you,”_ Natasha said. _“448 should get to you in the next two hours.”_

“Perfect,” Steve said, sinking another inch down his chair. “Nat, you’re a saint.”

 _“Not quite,”_ Natasha said. _“Good luck.”_

Steve hung up, still smiling.

“So,” he said, looking over at Bucky and handing the phone across the table. Bucky took it, warily.

“So?” he said.

“Buchanan?” Steve said.

Bucky grit his teeth, yanking the phone out of Steve’s grip.

“How the _hell-”_

“Relax,” Steve said, laughing. “I was almost named _Grant.”_

“Better than _Buchanan.”_

“Eh.” Steve shrugged.

Bucky huffed, crossing his legs. “So,” he said.

“Two hours,” Steve said. “Give or take.” He sighed. “I guess we could drink coffee. For. Two hours.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I’m only halfway through the first season of _Arrested Development.”_

“You’re kidding,” Steve breathed. “It’s a classic!”

“I know, I know,” Bucky groaned. “I’ve just- had a lot on my plate, okay?”

“Fair enough,” Steve conceded.

Bucky stared at him. He stared back. Between them, the coffee mugs stared at one another.

“Oh,” Steve said. “Oh, that was an invitation.”

“You’re supposed to be a spy,” Bucky said, disbelieving. “Double meanings? That mean anything to you?”

“Ha, right.” Steve nodded, watching Bucky uncross his legs. Again, neither of them said anything. And then, as they both stood from the kitchen table-

“We can start at the beginning if you want,” Bucky said, at the exact same time that Steve said, “Fuck me.”

“What?”

“Oh,” Steve said, “Oh. Wait, oh. You didn’t mean-”

 _“Actual Netflix,”_ Bucky said.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, did you actually want to-” Bucky made a vague gesture with his hands, glancing up at the ceiling.

“I-” Steve flushed. “Is _yes_ the wrong thing to say?”

“No,” Bucky said, immediately. “No, it’s. Good. Yes is good.” He coughed.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Steve added.

“Oh my god,” Bucky muttered. “Stop it. I’m calling you Captain Perfect for the rest of your life if you don’t stop.”

“Stop _what,”_ Steve said weakly.

“Just- for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh!” Steve clapped his hands together. “Oh, I actually brought supplies.”

“You.” Bucky blinked. “What.”

“It’s standard procedure,” Steve babbled, going pink. “A lot of the newer agents don’t bother with a lot of the interrogation training anymore, but when I joined, it was mandatory. And, sometimes, the best way to talk your way out of a kidnapping is to, well.” He shrugged, still red in the face. “So I figure, always best to be prepared, right?”

“You are the most ridiculous,” Bucky muttered, “agent I have _ever met.”_

“Safety is important,” Steve huffed.

“If you don’t get your ass upstairs in the next fifteen seconds, I’m dragging you back down to my basement and getting my money’s worth out of that goddamn thing, I swear to god.”

“All right, all _right.”_

o0O0o

_Two days later:_

“I should consider myself lucky you two didn’t elope at first sight.”

“Commander Fury, I-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Rogers. Take this.”

“Sir?”

“I want monthly updates. Not detailed. Just enough to know you’re alive. Anything happens, report back to me immediately. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If we have any assignments for you, we’ll let you know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This place has enough ghost agents to fill a graveyard. Prove to me you’re not all useless.”

“Yes, sir.”

o0O0o

_Two months later:_

“Long day?”

“Like you wouldn’t fuckin’ _believe.”_

“Poor baby.”

“Shaddup and give me some of that.”

“What did Pierce say this time?”

“Ugh, just the normal shit. Not using resources efficiently enough, coming in late again.”

“That one was my fault.”

“That was absolutely your fault.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m not complainin’. Anyway. Started going on and on about how if we weren’t technically a union, he’d fire me then and there, but he doesn’t have the power to.”

“You’re a union?”

“Not in the official books, course. It’d give unions a bad rep, if anyone linked ‘em to a business like us. Anyway. I started thinking.”

“About?”

“Quitting.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I’m completely serious.”

“But- you’ve been with them for _years,_ you don’t have enough to quit outright. And where would you go?”

“I’ve had my eye open for a while. On this other little place. Looking to hire people. I know it’s odd to go from architecture to accounting, but I don’t think the learning curve would be too sharp.”

“You’re serious.”

“I’m serious.”

“Well… your record’s pretty clean. Aside from the fact that you’ve been working for Pierce for years.”

“Gosh, that’s a weight off my chest.”

“I think Fury would take you. You’d be a good asset.”

“Damn right.”

“What about Pierce?”

“Pierce can suck my goddamn dick.”

“Well, he’ll have to get through me, first.”

o0O0o

_Two years later:_

“Was the second tranq dart really necessary?”

“Yes.”

“He was barely even a threat.”

“He was aiming for you.”

“With a _boomerang._ Who the fuck even _uses_ boomerangs?”

“Some people, apparently.”

“It’s pretty light. Ha. Bet it’s a _bamboomerang.”_

“You are the worst.”

“Come on, I’m funny.”

“You’re a bad influence.”

“More like a _rad_ influence.”

“You’re like a terrible dad. Making terrible jokes.”

_“Hey!”_

“Oh, wipe that look off your face. You’d be a great dad.”

“Very funny.”

 

“You’re joking about that. Right?”

 

“…Steve?”

**Author's Note:**

> its 4am  
> i havet to be up in less than 3 hours
> 
> somene stop me
> 
> coommment = <3


End file.
